


Sinful

by Officer_Jennie



Series: InkTober 2018 [6]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Lust, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Sibling Incest, Unrequited Love, envy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-27 08:53:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16215677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Officer_Jennie/pseuds/Officer_Jennie
Summary: Tobirama cried alone, screamed his frustration into his own cold sheets as the sun peeked through his curtains. Didn’t understand why his heart was breaking.





	Sinful

**Author's Note:**

> Short fic for InkTober - a day late because fuck migraines. Prompt: An Original Sin.

He awoke to the creak of wood.

Hashirama smiled down at him, barely lit by moonlight, face flushed, lips pink and wet. Crawled into the younger boy’s futon without apology, forgoing his own just across the room.

Tobirama huffed, but allowed his brother to pull him close, to bury his face into white hair, wrap strong arms around his smaller frame.

“Where were you?” Tobirama’s voice slurred with sleep, muffled by the chest he was pulled against. He breathed in deep, forest and flowers, the musk of wet earth. Pressed his nose firm against his brother’s pulse. Breathed him in, held on tight.

Hashirama’s tone held a glint of secret glee, giddy and airy. Puberty had yet to decide how deep it would be. “Spending time with Hitomi-san.”

Tobirama frowned, even as he drifted back to sleep. Frustrated, jealous, but glad his brother came back to him.

 

* * *

 

Hashirama was a man now, all long hair and bright eyes, power in his filled-out body, warmth in his deep voice. He was the Clan Head and their best medic, first on the battlefield and last to leave. Put himself fully into everything he did, insatiable, always taking more and more. Giving as much as he took.

A new woman’s scent on his pillow every week.

Tobirama had no interest in such things. Did not bother to know the women - fleeting, momentary things. He, a constant at his brother’s side. Didn’t bother to learn their faces.

Some nights, after his latest conquest had departed, Hashirama would go to him. Wrap strong arms around him, pull him close. Sigh deeply, rest his cheek on white hair.

Tobirama might have grumbled, but he always allowed it. Ignored the dark marks on his neck and collarbone, ignored his rumpled clothes. Pressed his face into the crook of his neck, and breathed him in.

 

* * *

 

A village was formed, childhood dreams made real. Children were safe from war, spared the early death of so many before them.

Golden brown skin against pale white. Defined muscles, strong arms pushing him down, skin flush against the man over him. Tobirama’s first taste of flesh.

White fingers through short brown hair. He closed his eyes and pulled them closer. Smelled the heavy musk of their sex, all male, heavy spice and hot ash. Thought of sandalwood and lilac.

Gasped, and came hard, shaking apart. The taste of a familiar name on his lips, unspoken.

Returned to the lone chill of his futon, regret thick on his tongue.

 

* * *

 

It’s past midnight. The streets dark, moon high. Tobirama’s house sits at the edge of the Senju compound. He comes home late, exhausted, his lab clothes tattered and singed.

There’s a light in his kitchen. A cold cup of tea left untouched. His brother with his back to the table, expression hard, unreadable. Eyes focused out the window into the dark.

He’d never resembled Butsuma more than in that moment.

Tobirama sat down, slow and quiet. He knew what this was. Set his posture and face, forced the bile in his throat down. Prepared himself for the disgust, the hatred, anger, violence.

Was shocked when he received none of these.

An apology, a soft, sad smile. Then those strong arms were pulling him close, the smell of earth filling his lungs. A gentle hand on his head, long fingers through his hair.

“I love you for you, Tobira. No matter who you are, who you love.”

He was in another man’s house before dawn. Rode them desperate, back to broad chest, pale fingers tangled in long, dark locks. Pulled and pulled, but could never get them close enough.

Cried alone, screamed his frustration into his own cold sheets as the sun peeked through his curtains. Didn’t understand why his heart was breaking.

 

* * *

 

Hashirama was excited, smile hesitant but hopeful, fingers drumming against the oak of his desk. Dark eyes meeting ruby, flickering away, nervous.

He’d found someone, loved them. Wanted to marry them. Wished for his blessing.

Tobirama went still, his lungs no longer working. Hashirama never showed lasting interest in anyone. Had only ever wanted a few moments of bliss, a night or two with sweat and moans and soft touches.

He knew he would hate this woman. Already hated how soft his brother’s eyes were, how she warmed his expression. How fond he smiled at her memory.

“When will I meet her?” The words tasted of ash.

Eyes lightened, a hesitant breath. “You’ve met him, actually.”

Him.

White noise, his mind stuck, thoughts incoherent. In his shock, Tobirama nearly missed the name of the man who stole his brother from him.

He refused to look at his brother, left him without a word. Refused to be in the same room as Madara, even months later. Ignored his brother’s sorrow, his pleas, the pained gaze on his retreating back.

Made a man with long silk hair fuck him hard into a mattress. Begged him to make it hurt, make him bleed.

It never hurt enough.

It was all too much.

 

* * *

 

“You love him, don’t you?”

Strong arms wouldn’t let him go, fingers tight on his shoulder. Pain etched into the corners of brown eyes, deep voice shaking.

Hashirama didn’t want to hurt him, wanted his little brother to be happy. Loved him.

But he loved Madara too.

“What do you want me to do, Tobira?” Desperation in his voice, his shoulders sagged in defeat. Eyes filled with sorrow, regret, hurt.

Tobirama could end this. Could end them, with a single word. Wanted to, more than anything.

He left Hashirama in the pregnant silence, ignoring the wet pain on his cheeks.

Fucked his own clone, henge a perfect reflection of his memory. Looked into deep brown eyes, clung to golden tanned shoulders. Fingers tangled in long brown locks, pulling them close. Breathed in the heavy musk of earth and lilac. Came undone with a deep baritone moaning in his ear.

Loved every second of it, and hated himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh, I love minimalistic writing, but find it extremely difficult to do. Questions/comments are, as always, welcome and appreciated.


End file.
